Morning Light (38 page)

“Clint? Do you have any spare gloves?” she called.

“There she is!” a man shouted.

For a moment Loni blinked in stunned amazement as cameras began flashing all around her.
What?
That was the only thought her startled mind could formulate as reporters scurried forth from hiding places like ants from under mopboards. She threw up her arm to shield her eyes from the flare of bright lights, only dimly aware of Uriah whinnying behind her, then of Hooter dashing across the arena toward her.

A microphone was shoved in her face. “Ms. MacEwen, how did it feel to save Senator Stiles's son's life?”

“How does your clairvoyance work?” someone else shouted. “Did you need an article of the boy's clothing to home in on his whereabouts?”

Loni couldn't see, couldn't think. The lights. Her vision was obliterated by white spots. But the questions kept coming like bullets fired from guns and hitting her from all directions. She heard Clint shout something. The next instant something struck Loni full-length and sent her tumbling to the ground. She hit the dirt with such force, all the breath was knocked from her lungs. In the dizzying swirl of dust and voices raised in anger, she heard a high-pitched scream, followed by Clint crying, “Sweet Jesus,
no
!”

Rolling onto her side, Loni fought as frantically for breath as she did to clear her vision. Uriah. As the spots before her eyes faded, she saw the horse rearing high above her, his front hooves slashing the air in a panicked assault. Clint had hold of the horse's halter and with the swing of his weight was trying to gain control, but the suddenness of the reporters' ambush had frightened the gelding beyond reason.

For an instant Loni thought Clint was trying to protect her from Uriah's hooves. Only then did she see Hooter lying a few feet away, and remembered seeing him run toward her. It hit her then, like a cruel fist to her heart, that Hooter had thrown her out of harm's way and taken the brunt of the frantic horse's hooves in her stead.

“No!” she screamed. Crawling toward Hooter's still form, she sobbed and cried again, “No, no,
no
!”

Hooter's old hat had been knocked from his head, and blood pooled crimson over a deep gash on his scalp. Even in her panic Loni tried to feel for a pulse, but her hand was shaking so badly she couldn't tell whether the foreman was dead or merely unconscious. Clint was still struggling to control Uriah.

Rage mushroomed within Loni. She pushed to her feet, fury glazing her vision with red. “You
bastards
!” she yelled. “Just
look
what you've done. You've got your damned story now!
This
is how it feels to be a clairvoyant. Get out! You're all
idiots
! Any fool knows not to flash lights and start shouting around horses.
Get out!
You've killed my
friend.
Put that in your story, damn you!”

The reporters, male and female alike, retreated as if a sudden force field were shoving them back. Loni stared at the blur of white faces. The cameras had stopped flashing now. Except for Uriah's shrill screams and the frightened whinnying of other horses, the arena had gone deathly quiet. Loni swallowed, knotted her hands, and advanced a step on her tormentors.

“I said get out. I mean
now.
”

The reporters ran as if all the hounds of hell were nipping at their heels. Loni raced for one of the phones stationed around the arena. With trembling hands she dialed 911 and asked for an ambulance to be sent out ASAP.

Uriah was still trembling when Loni ended the call, but the gelding was no longer kicking up a fuss. Clint was bent over Hooter, feeling for a pulse. Loni dropped to her knees beside him.

“I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.” Tears, hot and burning, filled her eyes and seared her throat. “Oh, Clint, this is my fault. My fault.”

“I need some towels.” He jabbed a thumb toward the rear of the arena. “The supply room. Hurry.”

He began stripping off his shirt as Loni raced to do his bidding.
Hooter
. A half-dozen memories of the funny, older man spun through Loni's mind. Clint loved Hooter. What if the foreman died?

Loni would never forgive herself if that happened. Not for as long as she lived.

O
nce again Loni found herself in the ER waiting room, surrounded by members of Clint's family. Clint was with Hooter, wherever that might be. The old foreman had still been alive when the ambulance brought him in, but the head injury was serious, and so far Loni and the others had received no updates.

Frank rested a comforting hand on Loni's knee. “He's a tough old fart, honey. He's goin' to be okay.”

“Hell, yes,” Quincy seconded. “Hooter's survived worse than this. Remember the time he forgot to shift the tractor out of gear, climbed off to do something, and got run over?”

The family spent a moment reminiscing about that event. Then Samantha said, “Quit blaming yourself, Loni. It's not your fault that a bunch of idiotic reporters sneaked into the stable and spooked Uriah.”

Loni's throat felt as if a steel band were tightening around it. “Hooter pushed me out of the way. He saved me and took the punishment himself.”

Frank patted her knee. “Damn straight. He wouldn't be worth the powder it'd take to blow him to hell if he'd done otherwise.”

“You had your back to the horse,” Parker inserted.

“You didn't know you were in danger,” Zach added. “Folks watch out for one another on a ranch. Hooter did what any of us—including you—would have done. He probably meant to get out of the way himself and tripped or something.”

Loni appreciated their attempts to make her feel better, she truly did, but the truth of the matter was inescapable: Hooter would never have been hurt if not for her. The reporters wouldn't have sneaked into the stable. They wouldn't have flashed cameras and shouted questions. Uriah was a wonderful, gentle horse that would never hurt Hooter or anyone else under normal circumstances.

Loni had been the fly in the ointment. The knowledge ached in her chest like a huge boil that was about to erupt.

When Clint finally emerged from the ER, his dark face still looked ashen. He had his shirt back on, the front smeared with Hooter's blood. At their questions he just shook his head. “They're working on him. That's all I know. It got so busy, with so many people in there, they booted me out. Now all we can do is wait.”

And wait they did, talking little, each lost in his own thoughts. Occasionally one of the Harrigan males rose to pace. Samantha crossed and uncrossed her legs and swung her foot. Loni just huddled on the chair, feeling numb on the outside but hurting on the inside.

What if Trevor had been in the stable when Uriah went nuts? Someday soon the child would visit his father at the ranch. What if it were Clint's son who was in the ER right now, possibly dying? One by one, other horrible possibilities circled through Loni's mind. She loved Clint so very much, and the last thing she wanted was to leave him. But she couldn't bear the thought of this ever happening again.

When the waiting became unbearable, Frank suggested that they all go up to the pediatric wing to visit Trevor. “It'll take our mind off our worries,” he said. “We can tell the gal at the desk where we'll be so they can get word to us of Hooter's condition.”

Everyone welcomed the idea, and Loni soon found herself hunched, arm-to-arm between Zach Harrigan and Tucker Coulter as the entire family jostled to fit inside the elevator. Moments later they were in the waiting area just down the hall from Trevor's room. The head ward nurse once again requested that only one person go in at a time, limiting each visit to ten minutes, spaced a quarter hour apart this time. Again, only Clint was allowed to stay in the child's room.

Loni excused herself and went to the ladies' room. Once in a stall with the door locked, she called her sister.

Deirdre answered on the second ring. “You all right?”

Loni couldn't think what to say. Finally she managed a muffled, “Mm.” Then she took a deep breath and whispered, “I need you to come get me. I'm at the hospital. Meet me in the main lobby in, say, thirty minutes?”

“You're leaving,” Deirdre said. It wasn't a question.

“I'll explain when I see you,” Loni said tightly. But then, giving way to tears, she blurted out the whole, terrible story. “Hooter may die, Deirdre.” She held a knotted hand to her heart. “It never would have happened if not for me. I feel so…
awful.
I'm poison. Don't you see? All the interest in me may die down for a while, but then another kid will go missing and it'll happen all over again. I don't have a choice. I have to leave.”

“Oh, sweetie. Have you told Clint how you feel?”

“No, and I won't. He'll be gallant. He won't let me go. Just meet me in the lobby. All right? I need you, Deirdre. Don't let me down.”

After ending the call, Loni bathed her face in cold water. She tried to do something with her hair. Impossible. She finally decided she probably looked no worse than she had fifteen minutes ago. Maybe no one would notice her red eyes and nose.

To her relief Frank was on the phone when she returned to the waiting room, Samantha was in seeing Trevor, and all the younger men were gathered around the television, watching a rodeo competition. No one bothered to look at her, let alone study her face.

When it came Loni's turn to go see Trevor, she found father and son once again playing tic-tac-toe. She could only marvel at Clint's acting ability, for she knew how worried he was about Hooter. But he seemed to be having a good time. He also appeared to be losing again.

Loni played one game with the child. That was all her ten minutes allowed for. She kept a bright smile on her face and avoided Clint's gaze as much as possible, afraid he might see the anguish in her eyes. Nothing, absolutely nothing, should be allowed to interfere with Clint's happy future with his son. The pair had already lost eight years. When Trevor finally came to live with his dad, the ranch should be a peaceful, safe place for him to grow up, not a three-ring circus with crazy newspeople flashing cameras and frightening the horses.

A hard knot of regret lodged at the base of Loni's throat, but she struggled not to let the turmoil of her feelings show on her face. It helped that Clint knew she was concerned about Hooter. If he noticed that she seemed sad, he evidently laid it off on that.

When her time was up, Loni said, “I think I'd better go now.”

Clint glanced up from the game in progress. “Wait for me downstairs?”

She couldn't bring herself to lie to this man, so she settled for smiling and kissing his lean cheek. “Later, alligator.”

Deirdre was waiting for Loni in the main lobby. When she saw Loni walking toward her, she jumped up from the overstuffed chair she'd been sitting in and hurried across the carpeted lounge area. Her face was pinched, and her short dark hair looked as if she'd been caught in a high wind.

Deirdre slapped a newspaper into Loni's hands. “This is a disaster. It's even worse than I thought. You're front-page news!”

Loni unfolded the newspaper. The bold front-page headline read:
PSYCHIC HELPS FIND SENATOR'S MISSING CHILD
. She wasn't really surprised, but her legs went a little watery all the same. She stared at the grainy photo of her face, then at the small print wrapped around the frame.

“Sharon Michaels did quite a number on you. Mom says you're on the front page in Lynwood, too. Evidently the Portland media somehow got wind of the Cheryl Blain case, and they've unearthed all of that again to spice up a story that's already huge.”

“I know.” Loni told her sister about the man who'd been offering her a book deal. “But we mustn't blame Sharon Michaels. She had no idea her being open with the press might cause me harm.”

Deirdre clasped her arm. “It gets worse. I don't know how to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“They're camped outside your house. Reporters everywhere. You can't go home to get any clothes or anything else. Michael thinks we need to get you the hell out of town.”

Loni had already reached that conclusion herself, and though the thought broke her heart, she knew she would never be coming back.

“Michael drove over to your place in a friend's car to get some of your clothes and personal stuff. That way they can't trace the license plate number to us, and it'll hold them off from our house for at least a little while. But they'll make the connection soon. The media are experts at rooting people out of their hidey-holes. They've got your full name. It's only a matter of time before they'll have all the details on your family history.”

Loni thought of Clint upstairs with his sweet little boy, and her heart squeezed with such pain it was almost unbearable. Though she knew that Clint loved her and wanted to be with her, she also understood that he had no idea how disruptive a connection to her would continue to be. He was only just now establishing a relationship with his child. She couldn't bring something like this into his life on an ongoing basis when he needed to be focusing on his relationship with his son.

“It sounds as if you and Michael are already making decisions,” she mused aloud to her sister.

“Yes. First we'll go to my place. Then…” Deirdre shrugged and shook her head. “We'll have a conference call with Mom and Dad, I guess. Maybe if we put our heads together we can come up with a plan.”

Four hours later Loni sat at Deirdre's kitchen table with a red wig on her head, a cup of tea between her hands, and a lavender candle burning near her elbow, the scent of which, according to her sister, was guaranteed to settle her nerves.

“I
hate
red hair.”

Deirdre fussed with the curls, arranging them around Loni's face. “As soon as you cross the Idaho border, you can take it off. Besides, it's more of a strawberry blond.”

“Where on earth did you get it, and
why
?”

“I got it at a garage sale for a Halloween party last year. I was Endora. Remember her, Samantha's mother in
Bewitched
?”

Michael came in from the garage. “I've got the rental car loaded up.” He glanced at his watch. “You and Hannah need to be heading out pretty soon if you want to meet Gram at Haley's Junction by midnight.”

Without a word Loni went to the guest bathroom to use the toilet. It was a shock seeing herself in the mirror. A cloud of red Bozo curls surrounded her head and spilled in all their radiant glory to her shoulders. Tears filled her eyes. She would never forget how Clint had liked touching her hair. He would hate how she looked now.
Only temporary
. Deirdre insisted the disguise was necessary, and Loni wasn't about to test the theory. All she wanted was to reach the Idaho border and put this insanity behind her.

Determined not to think about Clint, she straightened her shoulders and exited the bathroom. She was doing the right thing. If she went back to Clint reporters would soon be huddling in clutches around his front porch. His phone would continue to ring off the hook. Grief-crazed parents would be invading his outbuildings, offering him money or the titles to their vehicles in exchange for an opportunity to meet with his wife. Even his outings in Sweet Home with his son might become media events. Real, bona fide psychics fascinated the general public. Even after all the interest died down Loni would find little peace, and by extension neither would Clint or his child.

She couldn't do that to him. So she was going to take a page out of her dream cowboy's book and love him more than she loved herself. Idaho wouldn't be so bad. Her parents were floating her a loan to tide her over until she could transfer funds from the bank here to one in Boise. Gram's house would be rented out. In a few weeks, as soon as Loni and her grandmother got settled somewhere outside the city, life would return to some semblance of normalcy again, and she'd be able to concentrate on rebuilding her business. Over time the hurt would dim, and she would be able to remember Clint with a smile.

“You okay?” Deirdre asked from the dining area.

Loni nodded as she walked toward her. “Aside from feeling as if my heart has been shoved through a meat grinder, I'm fine.”

Deirdre gathered her close in a hug. “Ah, sweetie, this breaks my heart, too. I tried to warn you.”

Loni thought of Trevor as he'd looked last night lying on the hospital bed. The little boy would have died if she had listened to Deirdre. Loni had done what had to be done. The cost to herself couldn't be factored into the equation. “The minute I had the vision about the rafting accident, the die was cast.”

“Next time take my advice and ignore the vision. You have a right to a life, Loni.”

“The only one I'll ever want is right here.”

“Maybe after all the hoopla is over you can come back and take up with Clint again.”

Drawing away from her sister, Loni forced a bright smile. “Maybe.”

Moments later, when Loni crouched down to tell her nephews good-bye, Kinnon, the younger, stared in wide-eyed wonder at her hair. “Did you eat too many carrots?”

Loni laughed and hugged him close. “No, it's only a wig. I just wanted a new look for the day. Tomorrow I'll be normal again.” She kissed the child's plump cheek. “You be a good boy for your mom.”